light a spark
by turn out fine
Summary: no one has eyes to spare for the stocky boy in the green trimmed robes, Gryffindor scarf flying around his neck. - goyle dealing with crabbe's death


for ql semi-finals, write about a minor character (vincent goyle)

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The soles of your worn out trainers flapping against the flagstone floor, passing piles of junk all a blur, your head pounding against your skull painfully, you run. As your vision narrows, your teeth begin rattling violently against each other even though the heat is only increasing in its intensity.

Since you were seven years old, you had another half, a best friend, a partner in crime. No one had really wanted to go near you, the big thug kid whose father would beat you up if he didn't like you, before Crabbe moved into the dilapidated house at the end of the hill. Since then the two of you were inseparable, and you can't stand to lose Crabbe now.

You will lose Crabbe, though, you know it and he knows it. You pretend not to realize this, though because he's looking so desperate and you want him not to die, so much. You're pulled out of your reverie by a scream and the sound of a book falling. The book is on fire and the scream is Crabbe's and that's all you need to know before you faint. There will always be flames imprinted on the insides of your eyes.

Coming to on the hard hallway floor, you find that your world is made of chaos. The remnants of the walls are vibrating as if filled with life and shrieks and yells pierce the air. Malfoy, the git, is crumpled next to you, muttering in shock "but who's going to protect my left side now that he's dead?" A tremor travels through the school suddenly and you're thrown away from Malfoy, but the last thing he said to you still echoes inside your head.

_Left side. Left side._ It's probably just smoke induced but for a second you wonder which side _you're_ on. Then you remember your father's smile when you were invited to join the Dark Lord's inner circle. You try to remind yourself that your father hadn't smiled for years before you were accepted, that the cause you've believed in for so long must be right because Crabbe was on this side, too. But you are still, unsettlingly, having second thoughts about your life's mission. Your sudden regrets only multiply when you spot a head of brown hair the exact same shade as Crabbe's on the other side of the room. The boy attached to the head is being viciously jinxed by a masked man. The boy is also wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but as you run forward, that doesn't matter anymore. Ducking under beams of light coming from all sides, you make your way to him.

He can't be more then sixteen, his scrawny wand hand barely able to grasp the piece of wood in the right direction. A curse whistles above his forehead, ruffling his wispy brown hair. You jump in front of him, aim your wand quickly at his attacker, and then you throw him over your shoulders. You fly across the room to the doors, the boy's limp feet bumping against you and in a weak voice he asks what you're doing to him. You choose to ignore the question because you can't figure it out yourself.

Finally, you burst outside, where a light drizzle is falling and small clusters of people cry together. You stop to catch your breath and the boy slides off your back. He looks up at you from the wet grass, bewildered, until he sees your Slytherin badge. Then his face morphs into something else entirely. Revulsion, maybe.

"You, you're a Slytherin. Why did you save me? Shouldn't you be fleeing the school with all of your friends?" The boy eyes you suspiciously.

You have no redeeming response to this query, other then "But I'm here in the end, aren't I?"

The Gryffindor isn't done with you yet. "Who says I wanted to be rescued, anyway? Why do you care about me?"

You're not even conscious of the thoughts that are spilling out of your mouth, slowly at first and then faster and faster. "Goddamn it kid, do you want to die? My best friend just died and it doesn't look so fun if you ask me. There will be better people then you who die tonight, why kill yourself? Give the fuck up."

His eyes continue scrutinizing you and then he seems to come to some sort of conclusion. "Okay," he answers you. Then he takes off his Gryffindor scarf and hands it to you. "Wear it." He commands quietly.

For a second, the red and yellow stripes look like flames and you're drowning in the heat and Crabbe's scream, flames burning, searing, wrecking. Turning the scarf over in your hands, you examine it. It's a well-made scarf and for some reason, even though he was a Slytherin to the end, you feel that Crabbe would've liked it.

Back into the castle you go, wondering what the hell you're doing but knowing that it's right. The fray has intensified and no one has eyes to spare for you, the stocky boy in the green trimmed robes, Gryffindor scarf flying around your neck. The only ones who see you are the ones you save. You drag them out of the castle, setting them down and telling them that they're too young for this war. That there will be others to die and their turn will come later. Some of the ones who protest the most, you stun and then revive once you're outside of the battlefield.

You pass by Malfoy on one of your trips, still cowering and blindly sending out jinxes, trying to get a death eater to recognize him. It feels good to be more useful then him for once, to do something that he can't do. This will avenge Crabbe, you decide. It feels good to save, instead of to destroy, running through the broken school in your flaming scarf and trying to ensure that no more lives go to waste. Inside your head, you keep a tally. "Two for Vincent, three for Vincent...ten for Vincent. Keep going. Eleven for Vincent. You can do this, Goyle. You're on fire."


End file.
